


asceticism

by NekoAisu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bedsharing, Cohabitation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Fleurentia, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, Living Together, M/M, World of Ruin, the fleurentia is heavily hinted at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu
Summary: After so many years spent losing everything from family to the familiar terror of an entire empire at his back, companionship is a desperate necessity. Ravus can no longer sleep when he’s home alone─and when had the house he and Ignis had decided to stake out as a good base of operations become that to him? A home? He’d never even thought to entertain the idea of anything other than Fenestala being a place he’d rest his head and weary shoulders both, but now there’s Ignis and pictures pinned to the fridge along with scribbled notes for recipes same as both of their meticulously organized itineraries.





	asceticism

**Author's Note:**

> my piece for Cor Aut Mors!

If someone had asked Ravus where he’d be in a decade when he’d still been shackled to Niflheim, he’d have probably said “dead.” Between his stunts to secure Lunafreya’s safety and to thwart Lucis and its coward kings, he’d not believed he’d manage much more than a few years from Tenebrae’s fall. He may have been pompous (and still is, in some aspects of his life), but he was no idiot. 

The moment he lost value as a pawn, he’d be disposed of. 

Ravus had worked for his position like a loyal dog, lapping up so much bullshit it’s a wonder he didn’t end up dead for attempting to murder the Emperor with a crystal-inlaid spoon over dinner, and it had paid off just enough that he got out with one less arm and around five times more trauma that he already dealt with. A truly prosperous exchange, all things considered. 

He’d done many an unforgivable thing in his time as a soldier. It doesn’t matter if Lunafreya pressed one Light-laden hand to his chest in a dream, pouring blessings into the hollow of his heart with a whispered  _ “Be strong. Live for me, dear brother.”  _ like he’s ever been worthy of forgiveness. Ravus did not plan to make it through the Night. He didn’t count on being spared by Noctis when he’d been part of the desperate race to see who could wield the Ring of the Lucii and murder Regis (that traitor of a king). He didn’t think about how lonely it would be to live in a crumbling apartment with only himself and the occasional persistent bug for company.

Left without any particular goal and straddling the terrifying divide between apathy and hysteria, Ravus isn’t quite sure to make of one Ignis Stupeo Scientia, lord of snark and stale canned coffee. They’re both adrift once Night falls, each of them left without a tether with which to keep from drowning beneath the terror of being left alone. Ignis, unlike Ravus, snatches at any threads given to him until he has woven himself some sense of normalcy in his tiny Lestallum apartment. 

For all intents and purposes, Ravus  _ shouldn’t  _ have a home. Not after what he’d done to keep Luna safe (and yet Ignis disagrees with him, says he’ll always be there to mute that feeling, helping him talk it out because they’ve  _ both  _ done terrible things, but that’s the world they lived in. It’s the world they’re trying to fix). The thought doesn’t ever really  _ leave,  _ but at least sometimes his brain will shut up long enough for him to forget the past. 

It’s… strange to have someone to come home to. Even after the world fell to pieces and took the Empire with it, Ravus is still surprised when he gets back from yet another routine trip out to the newly rebuilt Accordan cities and is greeted by the face of someone he had once tried to skewer. He could have never expected the offer of a place to rest his head. Hell, he didn’t expect Ignis to even want to be  _ near  _ him (because who would want to make nice with the man who helped orchestrate the destruction of your homeland), but it would seem others are far more forgiving of his deeds than he is of himself. 

After so many years spent losing everything from family to the familiar terror of an entire empire at his back, companionship is a desperate necessity. Ravus can no longer sleep when he’s home alone─and when had the house he and Ignis had decided to stake out as a good base of operations become that to him? A home? He’d never even thought to entertain the idea of anything other than Fenestala being a place he’d rest his head and weary shoulders both, but now there’s Ignis and pictures pinned to the fridge along with scribbled notes for recipes same as both of their meticulously organized itineraries. 

He dumps his bags by the door, messily unlacing his boots and kicking out of them, and drops his coat on top of his bag before remembering  _ ah, yes. I should probably lock the door _ . There’s a soft shuffling and the sound of creaking floorboards from the (rig of a) study heralding Ignis’s attempt at wakefulness. His hair sticks up in a way Ravus will readily admit looks  _ absolutely ridiculous _ when he manages to sidestep the stacks of books, newspapers, fiscal reports, and who-knows-what-else to smile tiredly and say, “Welcome home, Ravus.” 

“I’m ba-” Ravus’s voice cuts out on a yawn, fatigue settling into his bones and demanding he sleep where he stands. “-ck. Back.” 

“While I’d normally remind you to hang up your coat, it’s past midnight and you look a mess,” Ignis huffs fondly. “We can clean up in the morning.”

Their easy companionship fills Ravus with an emotion that’s as foreign as it is familiar, flooding his lungs and squeezing tightly at his heart. Ignis shuffles down the hallway to their  cramped cozy bedroom and shoves loose hair out of his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squinting at everything. After getting burned by the Ring same as Ravus had, Ignis had mourned the loss of his king more than he had that of most of his sight. The glasses that used to be ever-present became a visor as soon as he’d gained access to Cid’s tools, lenses no more than powerful magnifiers but helpful enough he’s able to function. Ravus can see the remnants of old indentations on the side of Ignis’s nose and sighs. 

“Didn’t Highwind rip you a new one about not sleeping on time during your last hunt?”

Ignis shrugs and fumbles for the light switch, turning the lamps down a couple of notches. He’s halfway through peeling off his socks when he asks, “Wasn’t that the same one she told you to stop being, and I quote,  _ ‘an insufferable princeling,’  _ Ravus?”

Ravus laughs, and it’s a tired but comfortable sound. “Yeah, she also elbowed me in the ribs so hard I forgot how to breathe. I do not like to remember it.”

Ignis smiles and all but burrows under the blankets. They don’t have another room with which to sleep separately, nor do they have another mattress. Supplies have been spread thin since the Fall, so something so simple as sharing a bed has become commonplace. 

(As if the merits of a living partner that actually cleans up after themselves hadn’t already sold him on the idea of living with Ignis, Ravus is one hundred percent sure he’d have agreed solely based on the fact that Ignis is a  _ furnace  _ and they don’t have a heater or the means to run one even if they did.)

Ignis yawns, stretching and settling further into the mattress like he’s giving a valiant attempt at becoming a liquid, and waits until Ravus is in bed and comfortable before he turns the lights down a little more. They can’t sleep with them completely off or risk daemons, but having something close to the light of dawn is soothing to wake to and seems to keep unwanted visitors at bay. Ravus has never been one to pray to the Astrals (because all that had gotten Lunafreya was a knife in the gut), but by the  _ gods  _ would he kill to see the sun again. The lights are a pale imitation of true sunlight, cold and never quite bright enough, but he luxuriates in them nonetheless. 

It’s with the taste of stale prayers on his tongue that Ravus drifts off to a blissfully dreamless sleep. 


End file.
